Chapter 14 Fear Touched The Death King
He shouts in panic, “Ishani, open your eyes!”
I feel my body being dragged. My head is gently placed on his lap. Someone taps my cheeks again and again, trying to wake me but I can’t respond.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps rush toward us. Mrs. Shobha’s terrified voice breaks through the chaos. “Samar! What happened to Ishani?!”
I feel his arms wrap around me tightly as he lifts me up. “Call the doctor!” he orders urgently.
Everything becomes a blur as he rushes me into the room. Ruhi and Neeti follow closely behind. Mrs. Shobha comes in too, her worry heavy in the air.
Within minutes, the doctor arrives. He examines me carefully. After a thorough check, he says calmly, “There’s no need to worry. She fainted due to fear and stress. She will be fine.”
Medicines are handed over, and the doctor leaves. Mrs. Shobha turns sharply toward Samar. “What happened, Samar? How did Ishani end up in the pool?”
Samar doesn’t look at her. “Ask her yourself,” he replies coldly.
And with that, he walks out. Ruhi and Neeti sit beside me silently, watching my pale face. Mrs. Shobha stands there, fury burning inside her. She is angry furious at Samar but she knows there is no use confronting him right now.
The room is silent. But it’s the kind of silence that screams everything words cannot.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the Rajput Mansion. Vihaan stands in the gym, punching the heavy bag relentlessly. His fists strike with raw aggression. Sweat drips down his face, but his mind is fixed on one name "Samar"
Each punch grows heavier. His eyes burn with rage not just frustration, but deep, poisonous fury.
“I’m going to destroy him…” Vihaan mutters through clenched teeth. “He wins every time… but not this time.”
To him, the punching bag isn’t just equipment. It is Samar. Every blow feels like revenge, like hatred taking shape. Memories flash before his eyes Samar always standing tall, always one step ahead. Ishani close to him. Samar’s silent authority over everyone.
“He took everything from me,” Vihaan growls, landing a brutal punch that makes the bag swing violently. “Now it’s my turn.”
At that moment, Vihaan doesn’t look like a man. He looks like a storm dangerous. Later that night, Samar enters his grand villa with steady steps. His face is calm.
But inside him, chaos rages. He is not a man who panics. He is known for control, dominance, strength. Yet tonight something feels off.
He drops heavily onto the sofa. His mind spirals back to the pool. Me struggling. My fear. My body slipping beneath the water.
He clenches his fists. The challenge had been his idea a test to push limits, to force strength.
Samar believes fear must be faced. And he believed I was strong enough. But watching me drown watching my panic something cracked inside him.
For the first time in years, Samar doubts his own judgment. “I shouldn’t have done that not like that,” he thinks. Guilt rises not fear, not regret but guilt. He shuts his eyes. And suddenly a buried memory surfaces.
FLASHBACK START
A six-year-old boy plays in the garden with his remote-control car. Nearby, a water bottle lies open. Some water has spilled, making the ground slippery.
A tiny girl barely one year old walks toward him, holding a doll in her small hands. She has bright blue eyes.
Her foot slips. She falls hard. A moment later, loud cries fill the garden.
The boy immediately drops his toy and rushes to her. He lifts her gently and strokes her head.
“Oh no! How did you fall?” he says nervously. “If I wasn’t here, your bald little coconut head would’ve cracked open!”
The girl cries even louder. Just then, Mrs. Shobha storms in. Seeing the crying child, she lashes out in anger. “Have you no shame? You pushed this poor girl again?!”
“I didn’t, Mom!” the boy protests. But Mrs. Shobha, furious, slaps him hard. “Enough! Not another word!”
The boy stands frozen stunned by the slap. And then The blue-eyed girl suddenly stops crying. She smiles. A wide, innocent smile showing all her baby teeth. The boy stares at her in shock. “What a little drama queen.” he mutters.
FLASHBACK ENDS
Samar opens his eyes. They are bloodshot. The past and present collide violently inside him.
The darkness is so dense that even the moonlight hesitates to slip through it. Deep inside the jungle, on a deserted stretch of land, stands a massive secret chamber hidden from the world, untouched by law or mercy. Inside, a few shadows sit in silence. The air carries an unnatural chill, broken only by the distant sound of insects.
Among those shadows sits a man cloaked in stillness, his eyes burning with rage, his wounds buried deep within his soul. It is Vihan.
He is surrounded by a dangerous gang some lost in clouds of cigarette smoke, others polishing loaded guns with calm precision. At the center of an old, scratched table lies a single photograph.
Samar Rajput.
Across from Vihan sits the most feared man of them all Raaka. A name whispered in terror. A man no one dares to challenge and lives to tell the story.
Vihan stares straight into Raaka’s eyes, fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. “I don’t want Samar Rajput alive,” he says coldly. “It’s time to end his chapter.”
Raaka lets out a low chuckle, almost amused. “So the day finally arrives when one Rajput demands the blood of another.”
Vihan’s face hardens, stripped of all emotion. This is not just anger this is hatred born from humiliation. Samar hasn’t only hurt him. He has shattered his identity.
Raaka turns to his men and issues his command, “By sunrise, I want every detail of Samar’s life his routes, his routines, his weaknesses. If Vihan wants him gone, that man won’t live to see another day.”
Vihan places his hand over Samar’s photograph, his voice deadly calm. “This time, I won’t just pull the trigger. I’ll crush his ego into the ground.”
The jungle air grows heavier. Somewhere in the distance, an owl releases a haunting cry, as if even the night itself pauses to witness the beginning of this revenge. The meeting ends.
Vihan casts one last look at Samar’s photo—no fear in his eyes, only cold, unshakable determination. Raaka stands, pulls on his leather jacket, and walks toward the massive exit doors of the chamber.
Outside, a black SUV waits in silence, its engine purring low, headlights cutting through the thick jungle mist. Raaka and Vihan step in. The door slams shut with a heavy thud.
As the vehicle rolls forward, Raaka leans slightly and looks at the twenty armed men standing nearby. “Head straight to Samar’s villa,” he commands. “And finish it tonight. Good work should never be delayed.”